


yes/no/maybe (please circle one)

by faorism



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, Melodrama, Other, Social Anxiety, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faorism/pseuds/faorism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout Suga's room are a collection of miscellaneous things they haven't used in ages—don't want to use anymore—but haven't had the discipline to throw out. When Asahi approaches Suga with questions about presentation and identity, Suga realizes that those things might finally have a home other than on their shelves collecting dust. The actual process of clearing out, however, is so much harder in practice than Suga expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yes/no/maybe (please circle one)

**Author's Note:**

> bkyngw wanted to know how daisugashi would form if the asasuga corners came together first, and here's one possible route. the ot3 is only hinted at, with most of the focus being on asasuga (and tranness because that's apparently just how i roll in this fandom).

It is not the first time Asahi has been in their room, but by the way his legs rattle side to side in sharp jerks, Suga could be easily fooled to think otherwise. Seeing such an overtly anxious habit, Suga wishes they hadn't shepherded Asahi into their desk chair. However, Suga also knows Asahi would have just found another way to expel his nervousness. In conjunction with the bobbing legs, Asahi keeps his eyes fixed on his hands as he twists them again and again, a flush burns the tips of his ears, and he has barely said a word since Suga welcomed him into their house. These and other minute additions to Asahi's typical and already timid behavior can be displayed anywhere in Suga's room, whether Asahi was standing, sitting, or following Suga around as Suga combs through their entire room searching and evaluating before tossing things into a box on their bed.

Usually such behavior from Asahi warrants some gentle teasing (the only response from Suga Asahi ever seemed comforted by when he gets like this). Daichi is the one who can play off the Support Asahi By Steamrolling Forward In Conversation No Matter What schtick, not Suga, but Suga's gut tells them that their usual approach would fit inappropriately in the scene. 

Instead, as they pick up miscellaneous items—a dusty headband here, a bottle of nail polish there, bracelets Suga hasn't worn in years, books that inspire Suga (two Asahi should have no problem with, one a dense academic text that might prove a worthwhile challenge)—Suga rushes through thoughts they have for Interhigh. It's all budding strategies and half-formed expectations from what Suga remembers from previous tournaments—nothing particularly new or exciting, given how much the team as a whole already talks about it. But, the topic gives Suga something— _something_ —to do to temper the space Asahi needs right now. 

The strategy works surprisingly well until Suga gets to their dresser, a gigantic clunky piece of wood that acts as more an archive of Suga's clothes than an accurate representation of their current look at any given time. Suga is perfectly _used_ to old clothes popping up every now and again, yet Suga still feels an odd sense of unreality as they realize again that there exists a bottom leftmost drawer to their dresser. It has been... months? since Suga last interacted with this drawer beyond the rare dusting, which doesn't truly count. And it has been much longer than that (over four years...) that there is not just a vacuum of gritty resentment in that spot. Suga can't help but find it bizarre that there can actually be a good, exciting reason for Suga to engage with that corner of their universe. So bizarre a revelation, that the sudden shift in perception hushes Suga midway through an analysis of Kageyama's passes to Tsukishima. They manage to drop to their knees, but beyond that Suga cannot coordinate their limbs to open the damn drawer. 

Unfortunately, Suga doesn't recover quick enough for Asahi not to notice. "Suga?" 

Suga wills their body to turn to face Asahi, and the unwanted sloth of the movement clenches at Suga's chest. Asahi still shakes his legs nervously, but he now determinedly catches Suga's eye. At least the disruption was good for something... 

"It's nothing," Suga says, offering a halfhearted shrug. "Just haven't opened this drawer in a while. It has my skirts and dresses and a couple of other things that aren't right for me anymore. The sleeved tops might be tight because of your shoulders, but you have a narrow waist and I've always had a stout torso, so I think we might find things that fit you. Some of them you could also easily alter and should be fine to wear. I just have to..." Suga loses steam again as they glance at the drawer. 

"Suga..." Asahi's voice drops, wavers, and collects itself within a breath. "You've... You've done a lot for me just listening to me. I really appreciate you, you know, and that you thought of this but... We don't have to rush anything? You've already packed so much. Maybe more than I will need if it turns out that I'm not even—I just kind of feel like a burden which—" 

The force with which Suga forces the drawer open snaps obnoxiously loud, its edges hitting against the inner panels of the dresser walls like it means to crack the wood. The sound is aggressive, ugly, hateful to the point that it sickens Suga. Waxy exhaustion fills their limbs as they stare at the newly revealed bundles of soft cloth, and Suga can't move to sort through them. Even with their unsightly display of bravado, they only find themself stuck again. 

"You are _never_ a burden," Suga grates through their teeth when Asahi finally sinks down next to them. "Especially in this—no. Not especially. You are equally never a burden." 

"I—I'm sorry. You don't need to say that. I didn't mean it that way, I'm sorry, Suga, I—" 

When Asahi chokes up and starts sniffling, Suga glances over to their friend. Asahi was already stressed out, and Suga's sudden ill temper apparently pushed him over. Tears well in Asahi's eyes, and he's shivering through what appears to be a combination of crying, hiding the crying, an attempt to calm down, and hyperventilating. 

While perhaps a disconcerting thought, it is not unlike Asahi's usual tears when his social anxiety overtakes him, which comforts Suga greatly and jolts them into autopilot. Suga turns their body away from the open drawer until they cannot see it even in their peripheral. They cup the back of Asahi's neck and draw him close. Suga doesn't usually embrace Asahi like this because Asahi always stiffens up and runs off even if his anxiety is still running rampant (again, teasing is more Suga's go-to); this time, however, Asahi sinks into Suga's arms. Asahi sniffles into Suga's shoulder as Suga considers the weight of Asahi's body against theirs. It shouldn't marvel Suga as much as it does: they regularly help Asahi stretch and visa versa, and the two have certainly had run-ins on the court ending with crashes to the floor. They have hugged each other before. But Suga still needs to brace themself to support Asahi, clutching at Asahi's neck as if to feel a hint of a pulse can reward Suga a lifeline of their own. 

Suga repositions them both slightly to better accommodate their grasp, leaving them with Suga's lips grazing the upper shell of Asahi's ear, and their nose in Asahi's hair. Asahi smells like sweat from practice plus a bit of the product he uses to hold down the wispy hairs that would otherwise halo his face along the hairline. After years of volleyball, it's been long since that smell has been truly gross; instead, it draws Suga in as a fellow athlete, a teammate, a friend, a person whose muscles understand the same ache of practice, fatigue, and excitement. 

"I'm sorry I snapped. I'm not mad at you; I am just upset I cannot"—"There's nothing to"—"No, listen." The exchange moves as easy and delicate as Asahi's hair against the back of Suga's hand. 

"I cannot do this right now." It hurts to admit it, but Suga allows the confession anyway. "But I will soon. Thank you for coming to talk to me. It means a lot that you still trust me. That you still can depend on me after everything." 

Asahi starts sobbing hard again, overwhelmed most likely by the invocation of his leave from the team. Asahi's hands scramble along Suga's back, fraught, before yielding to a spot just over when Suga's binder ends. When Asahi grips onto Suga's shirt, they can feel a slight pull at the back of the binder into Asahi's fists. A shiver runs the length of Suga's spine, and they tighten their hold on Asahi in return, unerringly complacent to the whims of the intimacy of the pose. This complacency must also be the reason why Suga keeps going: raggedly whispering, "You trusting me... It makes me feel like a better setter. It makes me a better person." 

It's the complacency that lets Suga close their eyes, bury their nose in Asahi's hair, and continue tow whisper unabashed sweet nothings into Asahi's ear. "You've perfect," they say, "My ace." 

And "You'll look great with that apricot nail polish." 

And "I have a blue skirt that will look lovely on you." 

And "When you came back, I cried myself to sleep in relief." 

And "You are too good." And "You are too sensitive." And "You are too unselfish." And "You need to demand for more; you deserve everything." 

Maybe this is why Suga teases. Why their first impulse was to never offer kind words of encouragement to Asahi instead of their usual sarcastic, biting wit. Right here, in Suga's room with an open drawer full of the clothes of a person Suga no longer is (and maybe never really was) _but_ which could also be for a person Asahi may soon be (but also maybe not), right here is an earnestness Suga cannot contain. Suga aches to say more and more, a split, a waterfall, a stuttering eruption of encouragement that stings their throat raw. 

When they say "I love you," then, it isn't so much a surprise but an expectation. Suga pauses deliberately afterward, a halt that signals a promise after three years of friendship rather than the disorder felt when they stopped at their dresser. 

Suga loosens their grip on Asahi as Asahi slowly moves himself upright in the embrace. Their eyes meet. 

"I love you," Suga repeats. 

The two are so close that any closer Suga would lose focus over Asahi's face. As it stands, Suga can see that Asahi's eyes are red-rimmed but serious, and Suga guesses that maybe theirs are as well. Asahi scans Suga's face, and his hands twist Suga's shirt (and a bit of their binder) carefully between long fingers. The scrutiny flickers at Suga bittersweetly, but they allow the attention. 

"I love you too," Asahi starts, a blush warming his face. When Asahi breathes out, Suga can feel a whisper of his breath against their lips. A long minute crawls forward, neither one wanting to be the first to speak up. 

Asahi thankfully steps up. "If I wanted to kiss you," Asahi mumbles, "would you also want to be kissed?" 

It's both the most embarrassingly cheesy and enticingly smooth thing Suga has ever heard. Their heart sings. "Yeah, I think so." 

Asahi nods, expression flitting between a dozen emotions until he frowns suddenly. Despite the darkening of his expression, Asahi doesn't pull out of the hug Suga can't want to ever end. 

"What about..." 

"About what?" 

Asahi can't finish his question. He diverts his eyes for a moment, and he shudders like he's overcome by another round of anxiety. "I've seen how he looks at you. How you look at him. Maybe I shouldn't get between that?" 

Despite themself, Suga seizes. Immediate paranoia reads Asahi's observations as an accusation. But with Asahi in their arms and Asahi's pulse at their fingertips, Suga cannot help but acknowledge that not only do they know exactly who and what Asahi references, but that the observation is not untrue. Once the initial urge to deny Asahi tampers down, Suga is left with an hollow but not uncomfortable security that it'll all just be okay. They aren't sure how to convey that to Asahi, so instead Suga points out, "He does. I do. He _also_ looks at you. You, you look at Daichi too, don't you?" 

Despite being the one to ask, once spoken, the implications of the question are too much for even Suga. They kneel at a precipice, leaning ever forward when they still don't know what they have as foundation. Thankfully, Asahi is so stricken by it that he cannot form a response before Suga awkwardly continues. 

"We can figure that out later. Now I just want... _us_." 

( _You're more than enough_ , Suga doesn't add because their own desperate sincerity shocks them into withholding yet another confession. _Never a burden and also never not enough._ ) 

Asahi doesn't lean down and Suga doesn't lean up; they don't kiss. With everything that has rushed through between them, they both implicitly hesitate to add something on top of everything else. Instead, Asahi brings a hand to the left side of Suga's face, the pad of his thumb placed over Suga's mole. A simple touch, yet Suga still comforts in the warmth and weight of Asahi's palm. 

In a few moments, Asahi will push the bottom leftmost shelf closed before standing up, and Suga will point out the apricot nail polish, and when Asahi leaves, box in tow, he will lean into Suga's goodbye hug. Out of the moment that brought it, they will both be too overwhelmed and embarrassed to repeat their declarations of love, but their kind "See you tomorrow"s play to the same function. 

For now, Suga touches their lips to the heel of Asahi's palm, letting the bone guide the shape of their mouth as flesh compresses flesh. 

  



End file.
